Lonely, Like the Winter
by CelticWolfSong
Summary: China is trying to return home from a chaotic world meeting in Moscow, and upon becoming too cold in the Russian December, he accepts an invitation to go to Russia's house to warm up. Once there, he discovers that Russia is actually very lonely... Uses human names.


Lonely, Like the Winter

Walking down the frozen streets of Moscow after the World Meeting, Wang Yao was exhausted, drained both physically and mentally. The usual arguing had escalated to a point where even Germany wasn't able to calm down the pandemonium. Crumpled papers had skidded like wounded birds across the smooth, polished maple of the table, tea had been spilled, curses exchanged, followed by punches, a near strangling, and somehow…though he wasn't sure how this had happened, a cat, of all things, had soared across the table and landed, yowling furiously, on Italy. How a cat had gotten into the conference room, China had no idea (although he suspected Greece may have had something to do with it). The panicked nation had started screaming for Germany to save him, since the cat, apparently, was "eating his face".

"AHH! Germany, help! The cat is eating my face! I am not pasta, kitty! Stop attacking my face! Ve!" he had squealed in terror, all the while flailing and writhing. Only after Germany had pried the cat from the frightened nation's face did it latch onto something else….and Italy's face promptly turned red as he tried to get his curl from the claws of the cat, whimpering all the while. Germany looked confused, and Romano looked ready to murder something as he surveyed the chaos. Attempting to calm the livid Italian, Spain gave him a tomato, which Romano hurled across the room. Unfortunately, it splattered right on France's backside, and determined to blame someone, France turned to yell at Britain, who's protests included words that should not even be typed. The bickering swelled into an event in which insults were exchanged, and they went for each other's throats. Despite the Entente Cordiale in 1904, they were not even close to getting along. Ah well, they would be friends in time….hopefully. Most likely not. America responded to this mess by laughing obnoxiously, only adding to the noise level in the conference room…until an ominous aura hung over them like a cloud of smoke. The room fell silent as the inhabitants looked for the source, and an evil sounding "Kolkolkolkolkol" prompted Germany to end the meeting early.

Now as he trudged through the white mass that was supposed to be snow on the sidewalks (it was really a multi-layer substance. On the bottom, it had compacted into ice, the layer above that was thick snow almost the consistency of clay, then gray slush, and on the top of this strange sundae was the light dusting of fresh powder snow that was currently falling cheerfully from the pearly gray clouds.), China couldn't wait to get on the airplane to Beijing. There, it would be warm, and he could make himself a relaxing cup of tea. Then maybe he could do tai-chi, or perhaps study the ancient words of Confucius. Anything to relieve him of this stress would be welcome. His shoulders were tense, and he was shivering. He could see why Russia hated the cold, it created a feeling of loneliness and helplessness that somehow could not be relieved except by warmth. Perhaps that was why Russia always wore that scarf, to have some comfort against the wrath of General Winter. It was cold, so very cold…

Wrapping his thin coat even tighter around his slim frame, China shivered violently. He hadn't expected temperatures this low: alright, it was a Russian December, but surely he wouldn't be outside for long, right? China cursed himself for his lack of forethought as he rubbed his hands together, blowing on them to try to keep them warm. They were white with cold now, the knuckles prominent through the skin. Shivering again, China didn't even notice when he walked right into a very large, very familiar someone.

China paled even further as he looked up at the behemoth in front of him. The long tan coat flapped slightly in the snowflake bearing breeze, as did the faded pink scarf. Ivan Braginski, the nation of Russia, stood in front of him, looking down at him with confused and concerned violet eyes. "You are cold, da? Why are you out here wearing such thin clothing when the temperature is so low, little sunflower?" he asked, looking genuinely worried. Yao opened his mouth to reply, but he was quickly silenced by one gloved finger. "Come with me, sunflower. We will get you warmed up, da?" Without waiting for an answer, he quickly took off his scarf-Yao did a double take-and wrapped it snugly around the neck of the Chinese man before taking his hand in a large, gloved one and led him in a manner that was gentle, yet had underlying force to it. Nervously, China allowed himself to be dragged in the shred of hope that he would be warm soon. The closeness of the scarf was like a hug, it was still toasty from Russia's body heat and it smelled like him, like snow, sunflowers, and strong vodka. Unable to resist, Yao inhaled deeply, and he could have sworn he heard a small chuckle from the tall man. Yao's face was already flushed from the freezing weather, but it darkened somewhat when he heard the laugh, tiny as it may have been.

After they entered Russia's spacious home, Ivan removed his coat, revealing a snug-fitting maroon sweater over a white collared shirt. Without the scarf and coat, it was very obvious that Russia was not overweight, as some countries had assumed, but in fact just broadened by the thick winter clothing. China didn't say anything about it, however, having more than just a shred of tact about him. Instead, he turned his attention to his surroundings. The house was large and old fashioned, with old paintings and elegant wood paneling and staircases. A large, polished wooden staircase ascended to an upper level, which appeared to be as beautifully decorated as the first floor. However, despite the grandeur, what struck China the most about this home was how _empty _it was. Beautiful, but lonely, like the winter. Like Russia…

Sensing the amber gaze upon him, Ivan turned back to look at Yao and smiled slightly. "Come, sunflower." He gestured for China to follow him, and the smaller man obliged. Russia led China to an elegantly upholstered living room with a stone fireplace adorning the wall. Immediately, Russia crouched down and struck a match that he had grabbed from his pocket to light the wood resting in the hearth. As it caught on, warmth blossomed throughout the room, as did flickering firelight. The dancing of the flames in the previously neglected fireplace created an air of life in the room, something that Yao enjoyed. It made the house and its empty rooms less foreboding. Turning to China as he stood, Russia smiled cheerfully. "You will sit down, da?" he said, a request phrased like a command. China nodded his thanks before sitting down in an armchair so large it nearly swallowed him alive, at which he yelped and scooted forward before he could be devoured by the thing.

Feeling slightly awkward about the silence, China cleared his throat. "Mr. Russia, here is your scarf back, aru," he said awkwardly unwinding the warm pink cloth from around his neck and standing to hold it out to the tall man. Russia smiled slightly before taking it and wrapping it around his own neck. Yao could have sworn he saw the Russian inhale deeply as he tucked the scarf firmly into its customary loops around his snowy pale neck. He smiled again with a childish innocence and stood, towering over China.

"It smells like you now, little Yao!" he sang with a smile, putting a large, gloved hand on China's shoulder. The older, yet shorter, man looked irritated and embarrassed.

"Ai ya! That's not proper, aru! Don't use my name!" China scolded, swatting at the hand on his shoulder. It drove him insane. The northern nation was always stalking him and acting so childish, always wanting others to become one with Mother Russia (China shuddered at the thought of "becoming one" with anybody), and making himself at home even when not at all welcome. All in all, he was a major pain in the posterior. Yet, despite the annoyance he caused, the man was endearing, if a bit creepy. He was like a child in the fact that he was cruel, and yet innocent enough to not know he was being cruel. Centuries of turmoil had caused his mind to break, creating an almost split personality. It was unfortunate, really. The centuries of being alone in a barren, frozen wilderness had caused Russia to become lonely, desperate for company, and yet unable to attain it. China pitied him for that kind of loneliness, it was like the kind he felt after his younger siblings had left to go their own ways, only much, much worse. Russia had only ever had his sisters; Ukraine, who feared him, and Belarus, who he feared. It was pain at its utmost.

Russia looked hurt at China's protests, but the emotion only flickered in his eyes for a second before his hand slid slowly, carefully up Yao's throat and came to rest on his cheek, two fingers entwined in the petite man's dark hair as he leaned down, making the distance between them painfully short. A smile spread across his lips. "Become one with Mother Russia, da?" he asked, each word hanging precariously in the suddenly static atmosphere between them. His violet eyes smoldered with an unreadable emotion, but also an identifiable possessiveness. Each breath of Yao's dragged out for a hundred years, it seemed. Russia's hand on China's cheek, the closeness, it was screaming at the small man to answer. Russia was silent, awaiting an answer. China bit his lip, then opened his mouth to reply...

**A.N. **_ Bwahahaha! Cliffhanger! I am evil, don't hate me. Well, now you can make up your own ending to fit your own beliefs about this lovely pairing. The characters do not belong to me, only the writing does. Thanks for reading!_


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